The Price Of Fame

"Harry!" called an excited voice from across the Great Hall.

Oh, sod it all, Harry Potter thought furiously as he spotted Dennis and Colin Creevey darting across the room. They were both beaming excitedly, and he noticed a magazine clutched in Dennis's hand.

"Harry, have you seen?" Colin asked breathlessly, grabbing the magazine from his younger brother and holding it up. "Witch Weekly's done an article on you! The Boy Who Lived is now the Sexiest Man Alive!" He laughed and thrust the magazine into Harry's unreceptive hands. "They're saying all sorts of wicked things about you too! I wouldn't be surprised if every girl in the country fancies you now!"

Dennis and Colin continued to grin like idiots as Harry pushed past them and out of the Hall. It wasn't until the doors had swung shut behind him that he glanced down at the magazine in his hand and let fly a string of curses that would have made Severus Snape blush.

The Creevey brothers hadn't been lying. There was a disgustingly close shot of Harry's sweaty face after the last Quidditch match, his hair falling about his face in stringy tendrils, his skin pink and drenched, his fist victoriously pumping in the air as his other hand carefully clutched his prized Firebolt. His other teammates, who had been clustered around him, had somehow been removed from the picture so that only Harry rejoiced on the cover of the magazine. "Sexiest Wizard Alive!" the headline screamed, along with the caption, "'Boy Who Lived' To Die For!"

He snorted in a derogatory manner. He had never desired media attention, although he had always gotten it, and this was the last thing he needed as the NEWTs drew near. He almost regretted the fact that he was now nearly old enough to live on his own, away from the Dursleys; while he detested them, at least they didn't try to get his autograph or giggle about him as soon as he turned his back.

Speaking of giggling...

He heard the all-too-familiar sound behind him and he spun on his heel, recognizing two third-year students, their hands clapped over their mouths, their eyes twinkling with admiration as they stared at the school's star. When they noticed him looking, they exploded into fresh laughter, clutching each other for support.

He rolled his eyes and stalked off, the issue of Witch Weekly still clutched in his furious hand. He had never wanted to receive this sort of attention, but ever since the summer after fifth year, when he had spent hour after furious hour in the gym, pummeling a punching bag or running until his muscles burned and his lungs screamed for air, anything he could possibly do to numb the pain that had been his godfather's death, people couldn't stop staring at him. Being the overly self-critical boy he was, all he ever saw when he looked in the mirror was a too-skinny, gangly boy with untidy hair and ugly glasses. Everyone else saw a dream, a tall, dark, and sexy young man with a body to die for, gorgeously luminous emerald eyes, and an oh-so-endearingly crooked grin. Besides, he was the Boy Who Lived, a hero in the Wizarding world! Who wouldn't lust after that sort of character?

He gritted his teeth as he stormed up to the Fat Lady's portrait.

"Harry!" she cried, her eyes springing wide as they did every time she saw him approaching.

"Fizzing whizbee," he muttered, crumpling the magazine in his fist.

"Whatever you like, dear," she answered, swinging open. He stalked inside, fortunately missing the sight of the Fat Lady fanning herself vigorously with her hand. She couldn't help it - who could resist the charms of the famous Harry Potter?

"Oh, hello, Harry," Hermione said, watching him flounce into the Common Room with murder in his eyes. "Something wrong?"

Harry was infinitely grateful to his friends for trying to treat him like everything was still normal, like there weren't hundreds of girls who wanted to shag him rotten wherever they went. However, they had opted to take the opposite extreme, pretending like there was nothing going on at all, and continually acting surprised when he mentioned anything about the attention that followed him wherever he went.

"Don't start," he grumbled, flinging himself onto the crimson loveseat and tossing the issue of Witch Weekly onto the table. Ron disentangled himself from Hermione's grasp and picked up the magazine.

"Hey, mate, I remember that day...we thumped Ravenclaw pretty well, didn't we?" He laughed, a huge, false laugh so filled with emptiness that it threatened to grate on Harry's nerves. "I thought there were more of us around than that though."

"I can't stand it!" Harry cried, snatching the magazine away and making to throw it into the fire. Hermione grabbed it from him and sat on it.

"We know, Harry," she told him in that know-it-all tone that had only slightly diminished over the years.

He stared at her for a moment. "I cannot handle being constantly persecuted in this way!" he whined, leaning forward and putting his face in his hands. From across the room, a giggle exploded. This was the Distraught!Harry pose that some of the younger girls found incredibly endearing.

Ron and Hermione shot a Look! at the culprit, a second-year with bouncing blonde curls, and she instantly clamped her mouth shut, squeaking in discomfort as she flew from the room. The Look! was not to be trifled with. It was a well-honed skill that was marvelously effective on just about anybody, and was doubly so when applied by both Gryffindor prefects.

"Look, Harry," Hermione said gently. "We understand that all this attention is unwanted, and that you never asked for any of it. Believe me, we know. But you have to be above all that! Focus on your studies! Ignore all the giggling girls--"

"And boys," Ron piped. Hermione shot him a dirty look.

"--and boys. Just...try to think of other things."

Harry rolled his eyes again. Trust Hermione to suggest studying as an escape.

Ron grinned. "Hey, mate, you could always go around under your Invisibility cloak all the time, that way nobody would know you were there!"

Hermione elbowed him in the side. "Don't be daft!" she hissed. Louder, she said, "I'm really sorry, Harry. We're doing the best we can, really. After all, we still know you as the gangly little kid with the broken glasses. That'll never change. But other people, they don't know you like we do. Give it time...it'll go away by itself."

Harry sighed. "Mione, you've been saying that for a year now, and it's not gotten any better. In fact, I think it's gotten worse."

Ron stood up, rounding the couch and clapping a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Listen," he said, "it's only three months 'til graduation. After that, you can do what you like! There's no rule that says you have to go on living in the public eye...in fact, you could take some of that money your parents left you and go build a little hovel out in the boonies! Mione and I will come see you, honest!" The grin on his face grew, undoubtedly as a result of his imagination painting pictures of said hovel in his mind.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Right," he replied. His eyes slid up to the huge timepiece on the wall, and he cursed. "Bollocks, I still have two feet of that Potions essay to get done. I'd better be off." He stood up, shot one last glance at his friends, and stalked off to his dorm.

Hermione grinned at Ron as she extracted the magazine from underneath her seat. "That's not a bad piccy, you know," she laughed.

"Priceless," Ron agreed.